Materialist
by wreckofherheart
Summary: [Sequel to Inamorata] A new challenge arises, yet this one could result in devastating consequences. Not all Pokemon Masters are infallible. [Dawn/Cynthia ; Post-Platinum Storyline]
1. 01

**author's note** : This is a sequel to **Inamorata** , so please read that story before this one.

* * *

Materialist  
 **1.**

* * *

There is rumour of a prodigy, with ambitious morals.

When he first approaches Cynthia for a battle, he is young and too inexperienced to comprehend the level of efficiency required in order to defeat a Pokemon Champion. His last Pokemon lies unconscious in his arms within five minutes, and he flees, tear-stained and terribly naive. So many times this has happened. Cynthia is used to witnessing the defeat of trainers. That is her role as Champion: to win. No matter who her opponent may be.

The very same prodigy is seduced from his path to become a Pokemon Master. Cynthia is startled to discover he has turned to an old, yet returning criminal organisation named Team Rocket. Their former godfather has retired, fled, and in replacement is somebody Cynthia has never heard of before. As Pokemon Champion, she is the State, and is expected to approach these criminals. For a while, she doesn't touch on the subject, and continues to study on the myths of Sinnoh.

A message is carried out throughout the region: all Pokemon trainers are abusive; they are cruel; they are hateful. They _use_ Pokemon for their own gain. Pokemon trainers lack morality. They are savage, and corrupt men and women who deserve to be punished. This same message is sent across multiple other regions as well, until Team Rocket's motives become clear. What they want isn't necessarily power anymore, but justice. They have overturned their policy.

Stripping their silly, childish name, the criminal organisation decide on another: Icarus.

Cynthia can't help but associate the name to the mythical angel. Overly-ambitious. Spreading across a message which will only result in failure. Aaron eventually approaches her, asking her if this organisation mean anything serious, or if it's nothing. If this is all fear-mongering, and the region will remain at peace. And as much as she wants to inform the young trainer everything will be fine, she can't help but feel a little on edge. These criminals appear strong, and they are recruiting trainers by the day.

When the prodigy returns to her, he's older, stronger, and wiser. But he hasn't approached her to fight. He stashes his Pokeballs away, and talks to her: 'Join us. You care about Pokemon. You love them more than anybody else has. So, you must understand what we mean when we say that what you're doing is wrong. We should stop _using_ Pokemon for our own gain. We should stop trapping them in cages. We shouldn't let them out of those cages only for _our_ selfish needs.'

And it makes so much sense.

Cynthia sighs. 'You poor boy. I fear you have missed the very purpose of Pokemon battle. It isn't about abusing Pokemon, nothing like that. I would _never_ cause harm on my friends. Pokemon battle is about passion, about learning; it is about forming a bond with your pocket monsters, and becoming closer to them. That is something a Pokemon trainer will not be able to gain if they shy away from the very purpose of Pokemon battle. You mustn't be afraid. Please, let me teach you why Pokemon training is so beautiful.'

'If you won't join us, then I'll have no option but to destroy the Pokemon you possess.'

She's startled. Not necessarily by his confidence, but his choice of words. 'Do you not hear the irony in what you say?'

However, the boy is having none of it. He unleashes his first Pokemon, a Venesaur, and roars out the first attack. Of course, Cynthia is far ahead of his expertise, and her Milotic defeats each and every one of his Pokemon with wonderful ease. Yet it is not satisfaction she endures when the boy is left with one Pokemon, barely any energy, and only a single potion.

Glaring at her, he yells out, 'You're making a mistake!'

Cynthia sympathises. She feels _sorry_ for him, even when he pathetically releases his last Pokemon. The poor thing barely survives. It is no match against a Pokemon which is thirty levels higher. To the boy's horror, he is once again defeated, and he leaves, shoulders slumped, and wrapped in confused agony. Cynthia doesn't feel pride. Doesn't feel victory.

Instead, all she can think about is his message.

Perhaps his ambitions are reasonable. Perhaps this organisation which call themselves _Icarus_ have a reasonable purpose. It is what keeps her up at night. What makes it that much harder to sleep. She abandons the bed, releases her Togekiss, and tries to enjoy its optimism as it swoops around her in delight. But she just can't _hack it_. Her whole life, Cynthia has been a Pokemon trainer, had to battle against the rage she felt for her parents. She became a Pokemon trainer for a _reason_.

It had nothing to do with vengeance, nothing to do with power. Her reason was solely to do with understanding. To learning the ways of a Pokemon trainer, and to learn about Pokemon _generally_ ; how they live, how they intact with others, how they manage, their psychological states. It has been her passion for so long, she never really considered if her life was abusive towards them.

Togekiss makes a happy noise when it senses somebody approaching. Cynthia turns. A woman, several years younger than she, stands in the doorway. Dawn gives her a look Cynthia recognises. She's puzzled, yet concerned. 'Why are you awake so early?' She yawns, rubbing her eye with the heel of her hand. Cynthia can't help but feel a sense of relief at Dawn's arrival.

'I couldn't sleep.'

That isn't anything unusual. Cynthia is prone to her thoughts getting the better of her, but that doesn't discourage Dawn's concern. She comes over to the blonde. Cynthia looks at her, smiles. Amazed at how much Dawn has grown. To think, the first time they met Dawn was only fourteen years of age. With so much to learn, so much courage, so much to be disappointed by.

Now, at twenty five, Dawn is a Champion in her own right. And it shows. The best Pokemon trainers are scarred by their history. It takes a _lot_ out of a person to become brilliant in battle. The psychological impact the route to Pokemon training has is understated. If one comes out sane, it's actually quite admirable. Pokemon training is a frightening prospect, a career choice very few take on.

Romanticised in the books, of course. Becoming a trainer isn't just about finding Pokemon across the world, but about finding _yourself_ too. It's about knowing whether you have the courage to watch your Pokemon collapse before you, whether you can take on any challenger who approaches. Whether you have the mental strength to push forward when everybody loathes your success.

Dawn no longer has the rounded, love-heart shaped face of a teenager. Her face is angular, high cheek bones, and dark eyes which can be surprisingly seductive. She facades confidence, and possesses a spirit Cynthia has discovered in very few trainers. Dawn is traumatised by her past, but she doesn't allow it to eat her alive. And Cynthia was there, the whole time, while Dawn travelled across the Sinnoh region. When she faced the Devil Pokemon, Giratina, and caught it for herself.

'The same boy challenged me today.'

Dawn blinks, doesn't really react, but she knows who Cynthia is referring to. 'What happened?'

'I assume you're aware of the message which is currently being spread.'

'Oh.' Dawn smiles. 'Yes, I'm aware.'

Cynthia gathers Dawn cares little for the message; she's used to differing opinions, used to threat. She's had to deal with it throughout her training. 'They are very adamant on people joining.' Cynthia isn't as cool as Dawn. In a way, she's softer. Nicer. More lenient on trying to understand the opposing viewpoint, so, naturally, her reaction to _Icarus_ isn't as amused as Dawn's. 'I hear them. I know what they are trying to say. I understand their concerns, but, surely, I would not be who I am today if I doubted my morale.'

That strikes a response from Dawn. She widens her eyes, and turns tense. 'Since when were you ever sceptical of your conduct?'

Perhaps Dawn is upset. To her, Cynthia has been a role model throughout her teen years, until she became Champion. And, even then, she still held Cynthia with high esteem. And that was the thing about Cynthia: she _is_ confident about her training, about how she treats Pokemon. In fact, Dawn hasn't ever known somebody as caring as Cynthia when it comes to Pokemon. Her affections run deep. Really, one of the reasons Dawn has come to love her Pokemon so dearly is because of the woman before her.

Cynthia softens her expression. In a way, it's endearing––Dawn's temper.

'I'm not sceptical. Nevertheless, I am willing to listen. They are a courageous lot.' Cynthia shrugs. 'And, what if they are right, Dawn? There's no harm in considering the opposite viewpoint.'

Dawn blinks; her temper subsides. 'You're never wrong, though.'

Perhaps it's the rookie side of her showing. The Dawn who looked up to Cynthia as a role model, who blindly followed Cynthia through the portal leading to The Distortion World. So crazed and ambitious to do her teacher proud.

Never wrong. Cynthia chuckles. 'I'm human, which, therefore, means I am fallible.'

Dawn frowns. Clearly Cynthia has said something which has struck a chord. They're silent for a moment, and Cynthia allows Dawn to gather her thoughts, to consider what Cynthia is saying. She's not sure whether Dawn will lash out at her, or walk away, or just roll her eyes and change the topic. But, in way, she and Dawn are very similar. Dawn doesn't walk away, for starters. Not on anything.

Especially on somebody she loves.

Dawn comes closer, and then she's cuddling her. Dawn presses her lips to the crook of Cynthia's neck, and squeezes tightly. She could hold her forever, for an eternity, and it will never be enough. But she resists, and pulls back slightly to speak. Cynthia's eyes are almost blue in this light. Their greyness has darkened, and it's shocking how much her eye colour reflects her mood.

'You're Cynthia––and you're a Pokemon Master. You're the reason so many young trainers have followed their ambition to become something great.' Dawn pauses. She's still thinking, trying to gather her thoughts together. 'I think the only reason I'm here, right now, is because of you.' She smiles crookedly. 'If you were doing something wrong your entire life, you would have figured that out by now. And you're not somebody who gives into a challenge, even if it makes you question everything.'

And that's true.

Cynthia would have stopped, would have realised by now, if something were out of place.

'You chose to love Pokemon when you had every reason not to. I think that's good enough reason not to doubt yourself.'

Dawn doesn't forget that. Cynthia's initial reason to start her Pokemon training. It had nothing to do with glory, nothing to do with power, with becoming Master of the universe. It was about learning, about understanding her supposed enemy. That even though a Pokemon species had murdered her own family, she stepped over her anger, her desire to hate, and learnt.

What's more, Cynthia didn't give in to that desire. That desire to be all-powerful, all-knowing.

Godly.

Unlike her rival, Cyrus. Unlike so many who have followed the same path.

'You've come a long way,' Cynthia says. 'I'm proud.'

Dawn kisses her. Once. A firm, warm kiss. 'I have you to thank.' Togekiss whips around them, and perches itself happily on the windowsill. Cynthia glances over at her Pokemon, how it neatly folds its wings over its body, and falls asleep.

'I am relieved I found you.'

Because there were so many; so many young trainers she could have bumped into, but it had to be Dawn. It had to be. It had to be the silent, curious one. The one who was always a step behind everybody else, but her spirit––how it _never_ faded. There was a reason why Cynthia noticed Dawn amongst the others. She had an unbeatable passion; a passion so very few possess.

Now, Cynthia has barely anything left to teach. The student becomes the master, as it were.

She smirks. That phrase rings very true.

Cynthia is caught slightly off guard when Dawn kisses her again. Her lips are gentle, sweet, against her own, and she pushes her body into hers––a tame invitation. Raising her hands to meet her hips, Cynthia returns Dawn's affection, and eventually pulls her close. Until their chest are pressed together, and Dawn is everywhere; on her lips, neck, chest, fingertips.

It's simple. Forgetting about today, about what keeps her up at night, when she has Dawn to keep her company. And Dawn can do that: allow Cynthia to stop thinking for a while, for as long as it takes, for as many risks as it will cost them.

When they're breathless, wrapped in each other's arms, and close to finally sleeping, Cynthia delicately raises Dawn's chin so their gaze meets. What makes sense to her is how she has always treated her Pokemon, how she always lived her life, and how she decides to live her life now. Regardless of the alleged threat which might rise, at least Cynthia is certain she won't have to go through it all alone.

Dawn kisses her, kisses her to sleep, and joins her peaceful slumber.

Nothing could be more of a relief.

* * *

'Sir?'

A former Rocket grunt has entered the godfather's office, with bad news. Now, he is known as an _Icarus_ soldier, a man who preaches word that Pokemon battle is sinful and wrong. It is a fact he has gladly accepted. The security of belonging is enough to convince him that any message is worth following, regardless of the boss's personal beliefs.

The man he refers to as _sir_ is well-known within these regions. He turns in his seat, and looks up at the soldier, a dead look in his eyes. The soldier stops short, swallows at the sight. 'We sent the boy, but his mission failed. She's uninterested in hearing our side.'

Now, this surprises the man. He leans back in his seat, and cocks a brow. Although he refuses to be victim to emotion, he allows it this one time. 'Strange,' he mutters. 'I have known Cynthia for so long, and she's not the type to walk away from something so–– _correct_.' He smiles crookedly. 'Very well. We'll try another tactic. She spends much of her time with a trainer called Dawn––perhaps you can convince her through another strategy.'

The soldier nods. 'And what if that doesn't work?'

'I shall deal with them personally.'

'Thank you, Cyrus,' the soldier says, feeling victorious at the very prospect. Two of the world's greatest trainers––defeated, once and for all.

Cyrus says nothing in response, and watches his underling leave the room.

* * *

 **author's note** : Well, hello there!

I couldn't resist. I missed writing about these two so much, I had to write a sequel. This one shall be written in third-person, and will mainly revolve around Cynthia this time.  
Yes, Cyrus has returned. How? You will find out!

This story will probably be darker than its predecessor, and there will be more adult themes than before.

Currently, I am in the middle of studying for my finals. However, in-between, I will find time to update. If all goes well, it should be every day, if not every few days.

Please do leave a comment! It would mean the world to me. Plus, it's always nice knowing somebody is reading your work.


	2. 02

Materialist  
 **2.**

* * *

Humans are not buried. Underneath the ground lies creatures of extraordinary power, those whom soar across the skies, breathe fire, of large teeth, sharp claws. Humans are not buried beside Pokemon. The very idea seems wrong and dirty. They are a separate kind, and, in a way, Pokemon are more sacred than mankind, so the Pokemon is preserved, it is given a burial of its own.

Whereas people are burned.

Their ashes are scattered, and the grieving is less of a pain than the grief over a Pokemon's fatality. The connection a trainer and Pokemon has is not only unbreakable, but it is thicker than blood––it is steel, incapable of being broken. Sometimes, the connection is so severely intimate, the death of a trainer brings their Pokemon to the end of their life as well. Pain is shared, emotion is shared, life is shared.

The day a trainer realises this connection, to the fullest extent, it's always a shock. Almost paralysing. For Dawn, the first time this happened she had only just begun her training. The moment her first Pokemon was attacked, to the point of falling unconscious, it had left her dazed; her sight was lost for a split second, the pain and shock had been so real. After a while, such a trauma becomes natural.

For Cynthia, that intimacy began before she even chose her first Pokemon. Unlike Dawn and Barry, and many other trainers, she didn't have the luxury of being offered three Pokemon to pick from. She had to venture out of the village, and search for one herself. The thing is, you can't train a Pokemon if there is no intimate connection. What Cynthia came to learn was that the Pokemon who was most aggressive towards you, the one who really tried to steal your life––that was the Pokemon you had to be with.

A Gible is a small thing, but they have sharp teeth, and are surprisingly agile. Even after successfully capturing the Pokemon, it continued to have a rather bitter manner towards her. In fact, it was hatred, and at that age, after everything, Cynthia felt mutual. Because if it weren't for this species, she would still have a family at home, and, in a way, she wondered if she would even be searching for a Pokemon in the first place.

It disobeyed her, nipped at her sometimes, even left its master's side. But it was a powerful creature, and a difficult one to tame. And Cynthia was and still is a woman who falls in love with challenges; puzzles that have to be solved. Most trainers who started around the same time as she were excelling brilliantly––their levels were awing, and the powers their Pokemon had learnt were beautiful.

But it had never been the levels, never been the power, that appealed to her. It took time, it took a lot of mistakes, it took gut and it took her sanity, and yet, somehow, Cynthia was the last one standing. A reserved woman, she was almost feared by her rivals. There was something incredibly intimidating about this tall blonde, who had a large, frightening dragon obediently by her side.

On first impressions, Cynthia is intimidating.

Really, she's the kindest of people; sweet and hospitable. The hatred and reluctance she might have expressed when she started to become a trainer doesn't linger anymore. Forgiveness has been her only escape, and it's given her more. No one has witnessed her lose her temper, yell or hurt somebody. Her actions are always considerate, always affectionate, always selfless, and it has given her a positive reputation within all regions.

Dawn does consider the irony though: how such a wonderful person can own such a horrifying giant of a dragon.

Perhaps it isn't ironic at all.

That dragon is the manifested form of her anger, her bitterness, that power she is supposedly immune to.

Her Garchomp _relieves_ her from those ugly emotions.

'What would you do if you lost it?'

Cynthia looks up from her reading. She's researching the same Sinnoh myths, and each day seems to find more and more findings. 'Lost what?'

'Your Garchomp.'

Bless her innocence. Cynthia laughs lightly, and takes off her glasses. 'Well, I would be _very_ upset, of course!' Her smile doesn't falter. Dawn believes her; she would be upset. It's not what Cynthia would _feel_ , though, but what she would _do_. 'Why?'

Dawn blinks. She studies her, how her eyes appear blue in this light. How unkept her long blonde hair is; she loves that about Cynthia. Her untidiness is what makes her so _superior_. It is not a reflection of what goes on inside her head. Cynthia's thoughts are always focussed, always so terribly black-and-white.

The whole appearance makes her fetching.

'So, you would feel safe? Without it?"

Cynthia narrows her brows. She's more amused than anything else, and that's not exactly the response Dawn was seeking. 'You do ask me funny questions, you know?' She smiles, and it's beautiful. She returns her glasses to the bridge of her nose.

And that's all Dawn gets. When Cynthia returns to her work, Dawn sinks into the chair, observing her while she writes. The slight frown of concentration, how her delicate hand scribbles away.

Both look up when they hear the doorbell sound. Dawn slips out of the chair and proceeds to the door. Cynthia has undoubtedly returned to her research. Nothing can distract her from her myths.

Their visitor is a fairly young gentleman, wearing jeans and a top. Dawn is surprised by his accent. 'I apologise for disturbing you so late. You must be Dawn, correct?'

'Yes.'

'I was wondering if you would agree to a battle with my friend. Tomorrow? Mid-afternoon?'

It has been a while since Dawn has been invited to a battle. She smiles crookedly, 'And who is this _friend_?'

The man grins. 'An aspiring Champion. Perhaps you could teach him a couple of tips?'

Dawn squints. She doesn't need much time to think about this. In fact, Dawn already knew her answer before he had asked.

* * *

'Let him win a round.' Cynthia kisses her cheek.

'I'll have to go extra easy on him, then,' Dawn mumbles.

The following morning, and the two are ready to part ways. Dawn has her battle, and Cynthia has a meeting to attend. About what, Dawn is not privy to, but she has a hunch she wouldn't be interested anyway.

Arriving at the Elite Four building, curtesy of her Togekiss, Cynthia proceeds for the entrance, but a large, yet gentle hand rests on her shoulder. Stunned, the Champion swivels around, and, for a moment, she's sure she has gone mad. Because there isn't any possibility, none in Hell, that this man could be facing her.

Yet he is.

And he is very much alive.

Cyrus is thinner. He has cut his hair short, and facial hair has started to grow. He looks older, tired around the eyes, and suddenly his humanity, the amount of emotions which pour from his dead eyes, is close to disturbing.

'Hello.'

Cynthia composes herself. As much as she wants to _hate_ this man, she won't allow herself to. Conscious of her Garchomp growing agitated within its Pokeball, she steps past him, until his back is facing the building. Cyrus is unblinking.

'I was hoping for a chat.'

'Hoping? I didn't think you the type.'

Cyrus smirks. 'Where is she?' Cynthia knows who he is referring to. The same _she_ who not only destroyed his future, but his life as well. The smirk drops, and a burning hunger rages in his irises. It's scary, how _dark_ this man can look. As if all the light has gone from the world, and now only misery is left.

'You survived.'

'Try not to sound too pleased.' Cyrus pauses. 'Would you like to know the story?' He glances at the Pokeballs strapped to her belt. Flicks his gaze to her eyes. 'Or, shall we return to old times? Only, this time around, I will crush you.' He steps forward. 'I will rip them apart, feed their limbs to my hounds, and I will _burn_ you alongside them. Then you will know how it feels: to lose everything precious.'

'You still have not learnt your lesson. I'd pity you, if you weren't so pathetic. Battle isn't about who wins; it's not about the money, and it certainly has nothing to do with vengeance. You can take your threats elsewhere. I could not be any less interested.'

He grabs her hand. Cynthia yanks it away.

Cyrus chortles. 'I remember you when you were so _little_. Do you remember me when I was a child too? We wanted to rule the universe. Be Kings. Back then, you had a lot more _spunk_. You actually _felt_ something, and you weren't lying behind this ridiculous facade that you wear all day. Don't tell me you've forgotten the reason why you became a trainer.'

'To irritate you endlessly, of course.'

'You humiliated me.' Cyrus's face turns cold. 'You became Rowan's favourite, and I was forgotten about immediately. Why do you get all of the glory? I loved Pokemon, I saw myself as a trainer, but you? You were provoked by your anger, your guilt. Why do you think I tried so hard to rid those emotions? They're useless.'

'You weren't getting rid of them; you were _avoiding_ them. That's how scared you are. You're so scared of being controlled, you could think of no other way but to destroy the world entirely. Even ending your life along with it. That doesn't make you wise, it doesn't make you powerful. It just makes you weak.'

Cynthia holds his gaze.

'It's sad, how you are incapable of embracing emotion––it is so wonderful.'

He scowls. 'Don't start lecturing me.' He unclips one of his Pokeball, and stares at the red and white sphere for a while. 'Have you heard the latest? Trainers are being recruited by the day, told to preach a message. Trainers are abusive, cynical monsters and must change their ways. Pokemon must be treated with respect.'

A laugh. A cruel laugh, which sends a shiver up her spine.

'You'll be amazed, Cyndy. Who knows who my next apprentice shall be? Your lady love might be curious to find out more. Don't you think?'

It's the nickname he uses which makes her want to retch, but the next thing he says––Cynthia holds her breath, bites down on her tongue. He can mock her, he can fight her, but to use Dawn, to even _think_ about Dawn, then that is pushing the limit.

'Then what?' He continues. 'Will you and her become enemies? Like you and I?' He smiles. 'Actually, I think my powers would double if I had somebody like her on my side. The young are so easy to manipulate.'

Cyrus stares at the Pokeball.

'As are these things.' He throws the ball up into the air, and from within it escapes a flash of red. A Pokemon heavily lands between the two of them, and Cynthia hears the roar first. A Garchomp scrapes its claws into the earth, and watches the Champion with impatience. Cyrus is laughing. 'I thought I'd take a leaf out of your book! Let's see how they get on, shall we? I'd be careful. This one is quite extraordinary.'

Now Cynthia is aware of her Garchomp's fury. It is desperate. Cynthia reaches for her Pokeball, and hesitates. If she were to walk away, Cyrus would consider that a victory. Technically, as far as Pokemon battle law goes, it would be his victory. Cynthia could surrender, or she could take him up on the challenge.

How can she refuse?

When her Garchomp hits the earth, its roar is ear-splitting. The other Garchomp roars back, and both dragons rise onto their hind legs. They spread their wings, and Cynthia's Garchomp exhales fire from its nostrils, stamping its foot in protest. Cyrus folds his arms, eyeing Cynthia's dragon with admiration.

'Dragon against dragon. A fatal collision,' Cyrus grins. 'I have wanted this for _years_.'

Cynthia is quiet. She watches the man, and her senses are going wild; she can feel, hear her Garchomp; its anger, its breath, its hunger to pour blood. It is Cyrus who orders first. An attack both she and her Pokemon expect.

Its Dragon Rush is powerful, and its rage pierces her Garchomp's stomach. Cynthia holds her ground, watches as her Garchomp lets out a cry, but maintains its balance. Unlike Cyrus, Cynthia doesn't say a word.

Voicing her orders are not necessary.

The Garchomp just _knows_.

Fire bursts from its mouth, and the entire arena is lit up; flames dance between them, and travel up the opponent's Garchomp. It exclaims, flaps its wings, and struggles against the pain. The fire is persistent and eats its flesh. Cyrus curses under his breath, and orders his Garchomp to dig its teeth into Cynthia's Pokemon.

But his order is far too delayed.

Battling is a race. Cynthia takes advantage of the Garchomp's recovery. Her dragon soars forward, and slashes its claws into the opponent's stomach. It returns again, swiping its fist, and Cynthia can hear Cyrus yell out.

'Earthquake.'

The ground splits. Cynthia is left unharmed while her Garchomp breaks the earth, and Cyrus exclaims in horror at the sight of his dragon perishing into the quake. Then something happens Cynthia could never be prepared for. Without a warning, without even a second's hesitance, Cyrus releases another Pokemon.

The Articuno doesn't wait for orders. It flaps its wings, and a storm of ice is sent directly towards her Garchomp. Cynthia considers Flamethrower, to melt the ice, but her order is delayed. Her Garchomp is pelted by the storm. It scrunches its eyes shut, and the temperature decreases at a phenomenal pace.

Cyrus breathes, rolls back his shoulders, pleased at the sight. Cynthia watches her Garchomp struggle, it winces and growls at the pain, and she can feel it weakening. How its legs buckle, its wings seem to give out. Cyrus clenches a fist, 'Ice Beam!' A wave of ice is shot towards the Garchomp, aimed at its head.

The Garchomp roars, flaps its wings, restrains against the ice, and suddenly it jumps up, wings spread. Cyrus widens his eyes at the sight of this monstrosity, how elegantly it glides through the air. Then, it descends at a frightening speed, smacking into the Articuno. Both Pokemon crash onto the ground, and earth is showered everywhere.

By the time the dust has seperated, Cyrus is just in time to witness the Garchomp dig its teeth into the majestic bird's neck. It leaves a mark, and the Garchomp immediately lets go as soon as the Pokemon faints from exhaustion.

The Garchomp lands beside Cynthia, and huffs. Smoke escapes its nostrils, and the Pokemon falls onto all fours, ready for more.

Cyrus is in awe, but he manages to maintain a relaxed expression.

'Well done, my friend,' Cynthia gently rests a hand on the Pokemon's forehead. It growls lightly, but continues to glare at their opponent. Cynthia looks at him, expression unintelligible. 'You still have a very long way to go.'

It is an insult, a harsh one, but Cyrus accepts it in good humour. He returns his fainted Pokemon, and cocks back his chin, eyeing the two.

'I almost envy you,' he mumbles, 'I envy how much in denial you are.'

Cyrus releases a bird Pokemon, climbs onto its back, glances at Cynthia once, before disappearing into the skies. Even when he is far gone, Cynthia doesn't return her Garchomp just yet. She's trembling slightly, and she's not trembling from the adrenaline. Cynthia has been doing this for too long.

It's something else. Something closer to home.


	3. 03

Be it Summer, Winter, the golden days in Autumn, Mount Coronet's peak is scattered with snow. Another realm; climbed by very few due to the danger it brings. Trainers have struggled to reach the tip, and have fallen. Their backs split apart, faces crushed. A place only death patrols.

And yet, Mount Coronet is where Gods once roamed. Before Cyrus; before the opening of The Distortion World. Before the rules of physics were destroyed, and life became extinct. The place where a small, innocent trainer had approached the very creature which made the The Distortion World so corrupt and devoid of life.

Somewhere Cynthia would much rather avoid. She doesn't have her Pokemon assist her in climbing the mount. Instead, she stays closer to the ground, where the snow falls, but the wind cannot throw her off the edge. A safe stop. Where the entirety of Sinnoh appears so tiny, so insignificant, and, in that, Cynthia finds beauty.

The battle between she and Cyrus won't leave her mind. In an attempt to free her thoughts or, at least, try and sort them through, she resorts to isolation. Cynthia has always been quite the introvert, preferring her own company. Similar to Dawn. After all, only the best trainers are the lonely ones. The seemingly unloved.

Cynthia releases her Togekiss. It exclaims in delight, and soars near where Cynthia sits. The pocket monster dances happily between the snowflakes, and one would think this be the most fragile creature in the world. Cynthia has enjoyed how her Togekiss is able to spread happiness, ecstasy to anybody it is within reach of, but that it is also fatal.

The happiest creatures are usually the most dangerous. Spike their anger, and that's final.

And nobody expects anger from a happy thing.

She can still recall Cyrus as a child. He was tall, even then. People frequently mistook him for an adolescent, an experienced trainer. As much as he wished it so, Cyrus was never the experienced one; never the Master. He knew how to fight––and he knew how to fight _well_. He knew which Pokemon were more suited than others, depending on the purpose.

The boy knew his Pokemon, knew his battles, but there was one major ingredient he lacked.

Patience.

No Pokemon can grow without it. Patience is what earns a Pokemon their levels, their evolutions. A trainer's patience is the very _reason_ a Pokemon adapts, a Pokemon ages; a Pokemon comes to love their trainer. Without patience, there cannot be love, and without love, there cannot be loyalty. If there is nothing positive shared between a trainer and their Pokemon, then all attempts to become anything close to a Master are fruitless.

Cynthia learnt that; the hard way. Younger, she might have shown frustration towards her Gabite. At that age, she was still learning; trying her hardest to understand this species which made her an orphan. Her frustration had caused her Pokemon to become frustrated, and it _snapped_ at her. Not simply with its jaws, but with fire.

The Champion wears scars on her back, but they're not all from her enemies.

Dragon Pokemon are the most beastly to train. The Dragons expert, Lance, is proof of that.

Cynthia peers over her shoulder when she hears footsteps _crunching_ through the snow. She widens her eyes, surprised Dawn has found her. 'I thought you had a match.'

'I did.' She smiles; a smile which can only confirm who won. 'That was before they tried to tempt me into joining their purpose.'

The Champion hasn't forgotten. Cyrus's false loyalty to an organisation he has no personal interest in. It's all for glory, and he clearly has an ulterior motive. She swallows, and faces her view again; Sinnoh, spread over a vast landscape.

Dawn stops a few inches from her. Cynthia can feel her presence; soothing and calm.

'I suppose you remember what happened up here.'

'How could I forget?' Dawn murmurs. Cynthia drops her gaze.

There is a long pause. A pause which doesn't require any words, and yet Cynthia's voice is _screaming_ to be released. Togekiss hurries down to meet the two trainers, and perches itself beside Cynthia. The Pokemon makes a soft call at her, to which Cynthia responds.

She runs her fingers through the Pokemon's feathers, and then speaks, soft: 'You had gone ahead; I had been delayed by grunts, but you pushed through––speedier than any trainer I knew. By the time I eventually reached the summit, I was too late. I have never felt more terrified in my life.' She lowers her hand into the snow. 'For a moment, I truly believed the world would come to its eventual annihilation; that we would die.'

Then Dawn was there.

Alive. And ready. As if she were a soldier, who had just thrown on her armour; prepared.

'Will you sit with me?'

Dawn doesn't hesitate. Cynthia watches while she finds her place, and the girl's youth no longer appears so apparent. They are the same: aged by their years, their experience; the horrors they've been forced to endure.

'You saved my life.'

Dawn blinks, frowns, and then looks over at her.

'You saved everybody. All by yourself.' Cynthia reaches over, takes Dawn's hand. Raw and scratched from her training, from the cold; from the severity of the open air. 'And you were such a small thing. So terribly young. But you did it all––you defeated him, and then you caught Giratina. I never aided you once, and I knew you would become someone brilliant. I knew you would defeat me eventually.'

Dawn is silent. Her eyes fall to Cynthia's lips, before meeting her gaze.

She feels Cynthia's grip tighten. How Cynthia's grey eyes seem to darken, but not out of anger; out of regret. Out of _pain_. A pain Dawn has only witnessed once, and that was the day she approached Cynthia, scolded her, demanded answers.

That moment in which Dawn nearly _hated_ her.

'Cyrus is alive.'

Dawn doesn't break. Doesn't blink. 'I know.' Yet her voice cracks, and she reclines a little.

'I fought him while you were gone: he is stronger, and I fear his motives, this time, will attract more support than Galactic ever did.'

'I know.'

'I believe he will not stop at anything.'

'I know.'

'And his motive is entirely personal. I don't know what it is just yet, but I have no doubt in my mind that his intention is related to power. The man is full of gluttony: he lives on greed, power––he wants all of that, and more.'

'I know.'

Cynthia looks at her. 'You're angry.'

Dawn slowly retreats her hand from Cynthia's. Then, she stands. Cynthia follows suit, but doesn't reach out for her just yet. She allows Dawn to turn away, catch her breath. She might know Cyrus is alive, that everything may repeat itself again, but that doesn't mean old scars have not reopened. Everything comes flashing back, and it's terrifying.

'I am _not_ angry.'

But Cynthia is right. Of course she's right. The amount of times she is right infuriates Dawn more, but maybe it's just as well Cynthia can read her so effortlessly. Nobody else can after all. She clenches her jaw and wraps her arms around her waist.

Because Cyrus _is_ alive. Cyrus is out there, _that monster_ , breathing and living and with a beating heart and a _grin_. Dawn shudders. Shudders at the image of his demented face, the poison which leaked from his mouth. How much he tormented her, humiliated her; how much the two of them went through. The true fear of facing Giratina.

Even Cyrus had shrunk back. Even Cyrus couldn't approach the thing.

Only Dawn could.

It was Dawn who stepped forward, Dawn who caught it; Dawn who spent the rest of her days afterwards, being seduced by this thing. All it takes is for Dawn to release the Pokemon, and then the earth will _burn_.

All of that power, that magnificence, is in Dawn's hands.

If she so wished, she could destroy Cyrus, destroy this world; destroy the woman she loves so much, who stands behind.

Always one step behind; watching her back. _Guarding_.

Observing.

'I will not give him what he wants!' Dawn holds back a cry; so fiercely, it causes her throat to ache. 'Giratina is mine.' She digs her nails into her jacket. Exhales. 'Mine only. _I_ caught it; _I_ challenged it. I gambled my own life for that _thing_ to be taken.'

Cynthia watches.

'Don't… don't make me go through all of that again.' Dawn nearly flinches at how hot her tears feel, scorching down her freezing cheeks. 'Don't take me back to Hell.'

 _Don't let him reopen The Portal. Don't let him walk through. Don't ask me to come with you. Please. Don't ask me to do that all over again._

 _To enter that Realm. Where life decays, and gravity is a fickle beast; where I felt so alone and so defenceless and so small._

Cynthia walks closer, and carefully holds Dawn from behind. Holds her tightly. _And it is like hugging a statue_. Dawn is frozen, cold, and gasping––struggling not to weep. As she has done all of these years. Cynthia's arms lock around Dawn's body, press her back to her chest, and she wants Dawn to fall into her; to relax into her. To stop for a moment.

Breathe and _think_.

'I won't allow him to go near you. You have my word.' And yet, as she says the words, Cynthia's heart is splitting in two. 'I'm sorry I took you there.'

 _I'm sorry I did this to you._

Dawn scrunches her eyes shut. 'I wish I was like you.' She swallows, opens her eyes, and turns around. Cynthia's eyes have changed colour: a light grey, that of the snow. Pure, innocent; harmless. 'To be able to keep moving forward; overcoming your nightmare.'

There are multiple nightmares Dawn could be referring to. That of her parents' death, the beginning of her travels, The Distortion World, having to watch her student suffer and drown in her fear. To be so helpless when those she loves seem to drop around her.

Gently, Cynthia brushes the back of her hand over Dawn's cheek. Allows her other hand to do the same; she wipes her tears, and kisses her lips. Kisses them once, and softly; in fear she might actually cause more damage to the poor girl.

How ironic Dawn would wish such a thing, because, sometimes, Cynthia wishes she was anything but herself.

It doesn't ever really stop: the things that controlled her when she was a child.

'When my parents were burned, my sister was too young to suggest where their ashes be scattered. My grandmother had no opinion on the matter, and so they turned to me. I was fifteen; I barely knew right from wrong, but at least I was aware of how _cruel_ the Pokemon species were. I had to watch my parents drown in their blood, to watch their corpses burn, and then I was asked where their ashes ought to be scattered.'

Dawn blinks up at her. The tears have stopped.

'I would frequently look up at the Mount, wonder about it; what lay up there. I liked it here, because it was so isolated; very few Pokemon choose to survive up here, and it was absent of man. I took their ashes to this Mount, where they would not be harmed again.' Cynthia wipes a stray tear with her thumb. 'But, every night, and even now, I still worry that, even as ashes, they will be hurt. Be it a Pokemon, or a person, I'm still terrified at the thought of losing them.'

They are the nightmares which keep her awake.

As a young trainer, they were the reason she ever became one; why she ever became as brilliant as she is today.

'I am still terrified, and I am still terrified of the thing which took my family away from me. I'm still the same child who looked up at this mountain, riddled with anger and grief, over a situation I was absolutely helpless about. When we faced The Distortion World together, I was a little girl again; I was scared, so scared I couldn't even fight a man I had been fighting my entire life. It wasn't me who overcame the nightmare; you did. You have more strength than you know.'

Cynthia holds Dawn's face between her hands.

'Hear me now: I will never, _ever_ let you go back. I swear to that.'

Dawn presses her lips together, holds Cynthia's gaze, and trembles in her grasp. And as she did when she was just a child, she believes her; trusts her with every fibre of her being. Harm won't come to her this time. One way or another, Cynthia will make sure of that.

 _Somehow_.

Even if it means going back there _alone_.

Wherever Hell may be now. In The Distortion World, beside Cyrus, wrapped in her own heart.

'Don't run far from me,' Dawn stutters.

She allows that to sink, allows Cynthia to register her words; the significance of them, allows them to gently ease into her mind. Wrapping her arms around the back of Cynthia's neck, Dawn kisses her so lovingly, so wonderfully, so _completely_ , Cynthia is taken by surprise. Hesitantly, her hands find her waist, up her back, before pressing her close.

They kiss longingly, as if it be the only reason to stay alive; and Dawn has no intention to let go. To be wrapped up in Cynthia's embrace, her kisses, she always feel safe. Protected and sure of herself, her own sanity. That the world can be bright, that there is still hope. Still the same warm, heavy sensation which blossoms in her chest.

Still the same, with her; as much as it'll ever be.

* * *

Fire.

It _feasts_ on the land it surrounds; flames licking and burning what lies in its path. Pokemon after Pokemon are freed from their owner's side, and ordered to make a ruin. The small towns are easy enough, and the Pokemon Centres, especially, are targeted.

Anything which closely associates itself with trainers; the kind of people they are opposed to, will be destroyed.

Three boys, no older than nineteen, steal the Pokeballs of fallen trainers and return them to their leader. More grunts search the town, searching for a trainer to ambush, to take from. All Pokemon must be broken from their chains, and released.

They attack, they take, they make them bleed.

The bigger cities are next.

But Cyrus takes on one of the smallest villages first. Sandgem is always a peaceful, quiet little place. That is, until he sends ten of his grunts to ruin the place. It is easy: most of its inhabits are old, retired, former trainers. Stealing their Pokemon is easy, silencing them is easy.

The Pokemon lab is burnt to the ground, and Cyrus's Garchomp claws at the brick; and it may feast on whatever human it likes the appearance of.

Cyrus grins, and turns to Professor Rowan. The man is too disturbed to fume. Helpless, he watches his lab, his research, his entire life, collapse. The world around him has turned to fire, and Cyrus takes so much _pleasure_ in the sight.

'We don't enjoy abusing Pokemon,' Cyrus says calmly. 'We set them free. You are a monster, Professor. I am doing good through this, you must understand.'

'You? You are no saint. You hate Pokemon. You always have.'

'Is that what _she_ told you? Ah.' Cyrus sighs, and happily watches the lab crumble into ash. He has started to love the heat; how the fire waters his eyes. 'The Sinnoh Champion has always been envious of my powers. Unfortunately, she stands no chance against me now: I have an army, willing to fight for the right cause. What does she have? A dragon and her little _pet_.'

Cyrus hears the sound of running footsteps. He loses interest in Rowan, and turns around; a boy, he vaguely recognises, is rushing forward, Pokeball clasped in his hand. Cyrus's smile tugs into a disturbing grin. One of his grunts has come over to join him, but Cyrus stops the grunt from approaching this boy. Cyrus recognises him.

'And here's _your_ pet, Professor.'

Lucas ceases running a few inches from him. He stares at the fallen laboratory, and glares at Cyrus, throwing his Pokeball into the air. A Torterra is released, and its weight makes the earth shake. Cyrus reaches for his own Pokeball. Lucas tenses, watches as his opponent displays his Articuno, and the bird is gorgeous, mesmerising; _fatal_.

'How do you expect to deliver a message if you're causing so much chaos? Burning the research of Pokemon does the very opposite of saving them. All of that research––'

'Shut up, boy. If I cared about what you thought, I wouldn't have sent out of my favourite to destroy what you apparently love.'

Lucas's heart stops.

'Ice Beam!'

* * *

The match is over in minutes. Lucas's best friend is a frozen waste on the ground. It takes a moment, _a moment_ , until the young trainer finally realises what Cyrus has done.

His first Pokemon is dead.

Lucas refuses to cry. He holds his ground, but will not continue the match. Not if Cyrus will break the rules, and allow death to be involved.

The opponent steps forward, outstretches his hand. 'What do you say? Join me? Together, with your vast knowledge, and my brilliance, we can bring justice. Isn't that what you want, boy? Isn't that the very reason you became a trainer?'

'I became a trainer because I love Pokemon! Not because I wish to _kill_ them.'

'I only killed that one of yours because it was in my way. However, if you hand over your Pokemon to me, I will let them live.'

Lucas grabs his next Pokemon. Jars his teeth, glaring at the man with venom.

'You're the last man I would ever stand beside.'

A pause. And then Cyrus lowers his hand. He shrugs. 'Oh, well. It was worth a try.' A smirk. 'I suppose I will have no option but to take them by force.'

So, by the very end, there is nothing left.


End file.
